17
Beece walk down dark alley with other sim. Beece cold and hungry-tired, not know where is. Too many turn. Beece pretend search Meerm but not want find. Beece not like these mans. Ver mean mans. But meanest is red-hair city man who hurt Beece. Other mans call him Grimes. Grimes ver bad man. All these mans bad. Want hurt Meerm. Why? Meerm not bad. Meerm just sick. Get big-big belly.
Beece hear run-steps. Crouch down fraid when see red-hair city man run up. But not hit Beece. Stop and talk other man.
“Hey, Alessi! Somebody called the cops. Lowery heard it on the scanner.”
“Shit!”
“Yeah, well, had to expect it. Somebody sees a bunch of men and monkeys poking through their neighborhood, they want to know what’s going on.”
“Don’t suppose we’ve got any suck with these locals.”
“Naw. Who’d ever figure we’d have to operate in Newark? Anyway, Portero doesn’t want anyone to know why we’re here. That’s why I’m moving the car around to the main drag out there. I’ll be in the McDonald’s lot. When the boys in blue arrive, we fade.”
“I’ll bet he’s royally pissed.”
“Count on it.”
“All right. See you at McDonald’s. Hey, while you’re there, get some burgers and fries for the trip home. I missed dinner.”
“You got it.”
Grimes go. Other man look Beece. “Keep looking, monkey. We’re not through yet. You go over there.” Point other sim. “You come over here with me. Find her, damn it!”
Beece go where told. Lots trash here. Big puddle. Shoe all wet. Beece lost. See top Mickey-D sign between building. Golden arches. Yum. Beece love Mickey-D. Yes-yes. Sometime—
What sound? Beece hear squeak-squeak. Turn see black metal door in brick wall. Look hard see red letter.
ELEVATOR SHAFT
DANGER!
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL
ONLY!
Beece no read but Beece see blood on door. See eye look out from door crack.
Meerm! Meerm here!
Beece look round quick. Mans not near. Man not look. Beece fraid talk. Wave Meerm to make stay. No speak, no move! Beece bend, get water in hand. Wash blood off door. Get more. Blood all gone now.
Man yell, say, “Find anything over there?”
“No, sir. Many puddle. No see Meerm.”
“All right then, keep moving! Time’s a-wasting!”
Beece bend and whisper to door, “Beece not tell. Not tell no one.”
18
SUFFOLK COUNTY, NY
So…Meerm is in Newark.
Zero couldn’t be absolutely sure, but it was evident that Portero believed so. Zero had hired a private detective to keep an eye on him. Often the man reported back that Portero had given him the shake, but tonight he’d called and said that Portero and three others had made a beeline from the SimGen campus to a battered neighborhood in Newark.
Zero had driven his van from the West Side garage, through the Holland Tunnel, into Newark. Although only a few miles, the trip had taken nearly an hour. But well worth it. Arriving, he’d been treated to the spectacle of Luca Portero and his men herding dozens of sims through the streets, all calling “Meerm! Meerm!”
His heart had sunk. The swine had found her—or damn near. Only a matter of time before all those men and sims tracked Meerm down.
And then…a reprieve. He’d pounded his steering wheel with glee as he watched Portero and company make a slapdash retreat just before the Newark Police arrived with their lights flashing. They’d left empty-handed, which meant that Meerm—if she were here at all—was still somewhere in the vicinity. It also meant that Portero and his men would be back.
Zero had been tempted to wait until the cops were gone and then try to find Meerm on his own. But as much as his heart went out to that poor, frightened creature hiding somewhere in the dark, searching alone seemed like courting disaster.
All this gave Zero much to think about on the long ride back to Long Island.
By the time he arrived home he had a semblance of a plan, one that had been inspired by Portero himself when he’d conscripted Meerm’s fellow sims to find her. The murdering bastard was clever, no getting around that.
But Zero could play that game too, and play it better.
He removed his knit watch cap and tinted lenses, then unwrapped the scarf from his lower face. The air felt good against his skin.
His answering machine carried a message from Patrick saying they still hadn’t nailed down “surge” but had a lead or two they’d follow up tomorrow.
Ellis’s warnings about digging into “surge” still haunted him, especially his comment that Zero would not come through “unscathed” if he persisted. And his description of some of the secrets behind SimGen as “unspeakable”…a word he found deeply disturbing.
But there was no turning back now. Events were gathering momentum, and he had to find a way to control them, or at least steer them in the right direction.
One thing he knew he must control was Meerm. For her own sake, and the sake of all sims, he had to keep her out of SimGen’s hands. And to that end, Zero knew of a very bright sim named Tome who would be more than willing to help. If he could find a way to sneak Tome into the Newark crib, the sims there might trust him enough to let him know where Meerm was hiding.
Ifthey knew.
But assuming they did, Zero and Tome could then seek her out and bring her to safety.
Another if:If she’d come along.
Meerm probably had been so terrified by Portero and his thugs that she wouldn’t trust any human now. Another instance where Tome again might come in handy.
But Zero had reservations about the old sim’s powers of persuasion. And that was why Zero had to accompany him. Because if Tome couldn’t coax Meerm out of hiding, Zero would have to step in.
He moved to the dusty mirror over the sofa and looked at himself. He did that often. Too often, perhaps, he thought. But that’s what you do when you wished you looked like someone else, like something else.
He looked at his forehead and wished for less of a slope and a less prominent brow ridge; he wished his nose were longer, and his lips thinner.
This was not a face Romy could love, but it might be a face Zero would have to let her see. Because Meerm was that important. He’d risk anything to keep her away from SimGen, even if it meant revealing what he was.
For when Zero took off his mask, Meerm would have to trust him. Because she would know she was talking to another sim.
1
MANHATTAN
DECEMBER 21
“You’re sure we’ve got the right address?” Patrick said.
He and Romy stood before a dilapidated five-story Alphabet City tenement that leaned on its neighbor like a drunk against a lamppost; a rusty fire escape laced its sooty bricks and sootier windows.
He’d figured Alice Fredericks was poor, but not this poor.
“Let’s see.” Romy checked the number on the door atop the crumbling front stoop against the paper in her hand. “Yes. This is what she wrote down. She’s in apartment 2D. I hope she’s in.”
Patrick had called Alice’s number three times this morning to make sure she was home before they made the trip. Whoever had answered the hall phone told him—with growing annoyance because he said he was waiting for another call—that “the crazy bitch ain’t answerin her door.”
Patrick rubbed his cold hands together and envied Romy’s cleathre coat. The weather wasn’t going to let anyone forget that today was the first day of winter. Near noon now but the sun hung low as a cold wind knifed down the nearly empty street.
Cold as the knot of tension in his chest. He looked around. Parked cars lined the curb; if anyone was lurking in one of them, watching, readying to spring, he couldn’t tell. Only an occasional driver passing on the street glanced their way—Romy tended to draw looks—but no one seemed unduly interested. He’d kept watch during the cab ride over and hadn’t noticed anyone following.